


something in the woods somewhere

by ohfreckle



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: Nobody goes into the woods. There are monsters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, janedoe876. This is my gift for you for the Stucky Thorki Secret Santa 2016.

Nobody goes into the woods. There are monsters.

"But how do you know that when nobody goes there," Thor asks.

He carefully unravels the skein in his hands, helping his mother ply the wool she’ll later weave into beautiful wall hangings that will keep the cold drafts away. It’s always cold up North; a harsh land that makes people grateful for such small comforts.

"Always so perceptive," Frigga smiles, her eyes never leaving the spindle in her hands. "You are right. One came back, many years ago. Isulf was his name and he was one of our mightiest warriors. He was unharmed, but half mad with fright and after listening to his tale nobody has dared to venture into the woods since then."

"What did he tell? Was it a bilgesnipe?"

Thor saw one when he went hunting with his father two winters ago. It had frightened him even from afar, a massive beast with big horns, its roar piercing Thor to the very bone.

"If only," his mother shakes her head, winding a string of plied wool onto her spindle. "No, bilgesnipes aren’t monsters. They’re simply beasts, valuable beasts our men used to hunt for meat and to sell their horns."

Something inside Thor shivers and quakes with fear. Fourteen winters he has seen already and he can’t imagine anything more terrifying than a horned beast thrice his size.

"What is it, then," he whispers, so low he can barely hear it himself over the crackling fire in the hearth.

"Nobody ever saw it. It has eyes of fire, Isulf says, and possesses the power of ten men." Frigga’s fingers are quick and nimble while she works, sorrow written across her face. "They all came back, those who went into the woods. We found them strung from the high pole at the edge of the wood, battered and ravaged by a power no human possesses."

"They were very brave then," Thor says. "I would have done the same. It’s our duty to provide for our people, father says, no matter what the cost."

"Your father is a wise man. It is a noble cause, but I fear many of our men were tempted by more than that. Rumors about a maiden who lives deep in the woods were whispered in the tavern, a goddess burdened with a curse that only a kiss can lift." Her eyes are solemn when she looks at Thor, the flickering fire casting her face in shadows. "Somebody wanted these men dead. Monsters aren’t always frightful on the outside. You always must remember that."

***

Thor is seventeen winters old when he goes into the woods.

It’s dark in there, still but not quiet. The rustling of dry leaves follows him throughout the day, small animals scuttling away from their unknown visitor.

Thor walks until he reaches a small clearing. High above the treetops he can see glimpses of the midday sun, telling him it’s time to eat, as if he couldn’t already tell from his rumbling stomach.

He takes his light meal sitting on an old log, musing about his surroundings. Nothing portends to the terrible things that must have happened here. One would think that such evil lingers, that it’s palpable in the air surrounding him, but all he sees is an ordinary forest with gnarly trees, dry scrubs and the ever-present smell of decay.

Just when Thor decides that perhaps this day is not the day for heroic deeds and prepares to leave, brushing off dry leaves leaves from his breeches, a stag breaks through the trees. It stops just a few few feet away from him, assessing him calmly, as if it senses that he means no harm for it.

Thor loosens his grip around the axe he’d brought up reflexively to defend himself. Hunting deer isn’t what he came for today. His mother would be proud, relieved that he made it back alive at all, but not his father.

_You’re a man now. Show us that you’re worthy._

Thor will alway remember that. He’s worthy and he’ll prove it.

In Thor’s dreams it’s always him who finds the bilgesnipe, not the other way round.

He’s tired, so very tired. For hours he’s roamed the woods, searching for the way home. It’s as if the trees won’t let him go. Three times he’s passed the small clearing again, the crumbs from his meagre meal proof that he’s going in circles. One minute Thor is looking at the now familiar log, the next he hears a deafening roar and then—

***

He wakes to his mother’s stricken face.

Her voice is thick with unshed tears. They found him under the high pole, right at the edge of the woods. Unharmed, in one hand the horn of a bilgesnipe, his other clutched around the feather of a raven.

"I must go back," Thor says, throwing back the covers. Immediately the world starts spinning. He can’t remember, not a single thing, but the horn is proof enough for him that he succeeded. Somewhere in the woods in a newly injured bilgesnipe; his chance to prove himself worthy.

"I fear that you will one day," Frigga whispers, her hand soft against his chest, pushing him gently down onto his furs. "For now, though, you must sleep."

***

A fortnight he was gone, his mother says.

Three months it takes him to recover.

Thor spends his days with his father on the fields and pastures, providing for his people. It’s a simple life and most days Thor is content with it.

His nights, though, his nights he spends dreaming. Yearning for something he can never remember. Sometimes he wakes happy, sometimes sad. But always his dreams are soft and black and blue.

***

Thor goes back when he is eighteen winters old.

This time he remembers everything: the pain of large teeth piercing his flesh, the dull sound of his axe meeting bone, the foul stench of too much blood.

But most of all Thor remembers the sweet joy of victory.

The bilgesnipe is much too heavy for him to carry home. He packs the horns and as much meat as he can carry onto a makeshift wooden stretcher, and when he is greeted by a gathering of people at the edge of the forest, for the first time he feels truly worthy.

It’s a day of many firsts for Thor. His first kill, the first feast in his honor, the first time he lies with a woman.

Deep into the night, when Thor undresses to finally go to sleep, a single black feather falls down from inside his tunic. And for the first time he remembers raven locks and soft fingers against his cheek.

***

Every year Thor goes into the woods and every year his quarry is enough to sustain his family for the months to come. The beasts’s horns make a handsome price in the nearby town, enough to build a large house for his family and to give to those who are less fortunate.

And every year he brings back a feather, black and shining.

"You’ve never told me what these are," Sif says. They wed last winter and Thor loves her dearly, as much as he can.

Thor carefully adds another feather to the twelve in the wooden box he keeps next to the fireplace, stroking them softly. What can he tell her, when he doesn’t know himself.

***

Thor is thirty winters old when he goes into the woods and for the first time no beast crosses his path.

"What have I done?" he shouts, slashing the air with his axe in a fit of anger. "Am I not worthy anymore?"

How can he go back with empty hands?

"Yes, what _have_ you done?"

Has he gone mad after all these years? Thor looks around, but he is alone. Nobody but him ventures into the woods.

"All these years and you still think you slew those beasts alone?" The voice is cold, mocking, but most of all, it’s familiar.

And suddenly Thor remembers. Soft hands cooling his fevered brow, a whisper soothing his anguished mind. _May the spirits of the wood protect you._

"It was you," he whispers. "All those years ago you saved me."

"Saved you. Protected you, to this very day."

Thor looks at the man with wonder. He didn’t appear, he’s just there right in front of him, as if he’s been here next to Thor all this time and Thor simply didn’t see him.

"It’s true," Thor whispers. "All those rumors were true, only you are a god, not a goddess."

Never has Thor seen such beauty. His god is clad in a long cloak made of raven feathers, his blue skin radiant against the stark black. Raven locks frame his lovely face and on his brow—

"Who did this to you," Thor asks, reaching out to touch the small horns that curl on top of his brow. Lets his fingers follow down the delicate curve of his face, tracing the intricate patterns etched into his skin. "Who _are_ you?"

"I am Loki." Red eyes hold Thor’s gaze, calm and sure. "I’m the ruler of this forest and I have always been this way."

"But—"

"But surely something so unsightly must be cursed?" Loki hisses, his beautiful face twisting into a mask of anger. "Are you going to try to kiss me and relieve me of my burden, too?"

"No," Thor says quietly. "No."

He looks at Loki for a long time and feels calmness settling into his bones that only a man who lost the thing most dear to him and unexpectedly finds it again can know.

Loki’s lips are soft against his own. They kiss for a long time, barely more than a gentle press of lips, but it still sends Thor’s heart racing unlike he’s ever felt before.

Red eyes look back at him in wonder when he finally breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, and there’s a feather clutched tightly in his fist.

Seven days Thor’s people hold vigil at the edge of the wood, right under the high pole.

He never returns. But every winter a bilgesnipe appears at the same spot, a single black feather tucked beneath a horn.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://ohfreckle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
